


Spoils of War

by EmBethMarsh



Category: DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Assassin!Damian Wayne, Bondage, Branding, F/M, Implied Dick Grayson/Talia al Ghul, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Solitary Confinement, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmBethMarsh/pseuds/EmBethMarsh
Summary: Written for DickDami Week.Nightwing is captured by the League of Assassins and given to Assassin!Damian to do with as he wishes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just some background for the setting, I imagine this is set in a timeline where Damian never meets Bruce and remains with the League. Damian is not underage in this, as the League speed up his growth so that he can be a more effective assassin.

The first time Damian laid eyes on Nightwing was at a lavish feast his grandfather had arranged. Initially, Damian had questioned the necessity of the celebration, but now that he’d seen Nightwing unconscious, beaten and bound in the centre of the room, wearing pitiful shreds of his uniform, Damian understood; the League of Assassins had dealt a great blow to the Batman, taking his favourite son as a spoil of war.

***

A few weeks passed before Damian saw Nightwing again. He stared through the bars of Nightwing’s cell as he escorted a prisoner to the one next door. The shreds of his uniform had gone now and no mask covered his face. Blue eyes, still filled with hope of rescue, glanced up at Damian. There was a brief moment of joy in Nightwing’s face as if he’d mistaken Damian for someone else. The vigilante laughed defeatedly once he realised his mistake and broke the eye contact.

***  
The next time Damian saw him was in his Mother’s quarters. He was still naked, and bound spread eagle to his Mother’s bed. The dim candlelight of the room flickered and Damian noticed the sheen of sweat on Nightwing’s body. Whatever torture his Mother had inflicted upon Nightwing seemed to be taking it's toll; he seemed delirious, mumbling the word, ‘Please’ over and over again. Talia acknowledged Damian and congratulated him on a recent successful mission before dismissing him. Damian briefly wondered if his Mother had called him specifically at this time so that he could see Nightwing. He concluded that nothing was done within the Al Ghul family without purpose; of course she had planned it.

***

“Grandfather, you wished to see me?” Damian questioned, rising from his respectful bow. Ra’s flicked his wrist, striking Nightwing’s back skillfully with a bullwhip. By the looks of the red welts adorning his back, it had been happening for a while before Damian arrived. His eyes wandered down, noting Nightwing’s buttocks had been left unmarked. Ra’s smiled as Nightwing cried in pain when the whip struck him again,  
“Yes.” Ra’s nodded, handing the whip to Damian, “Consider him a gift.”

***  
Damian considered Nightwing more of a nuisance than a gift, much like a pet that he didn’t ask for and was now expected to care for. For the first few weeks, he had some servants ensure Nightwing was fed and watered but ultimately left him alone in his cell. It wasn’t until after a particularly bad mission that he decided to vent some frustrations on his prisoner. Nightwing barely flinched when the cell door opened, he sat in a corner of the small cell and barely acknowledged Damian, except for a quick glance from those blue eyes. Damian noted the eyes now seemed devoid of any hope of rescue.

It should’ve been a short trip from Nightwing’s cell to Damian’s quarters, but he’d insisted on making his prisoner crawl there. There was no fight left in Nightwing, he obliged and followed obediently behind Damian, speeding up whenever he received a tug of the leash attached to the collar adorning his neck.

Damian whipped Nightwing several times in a similar method to how he’d seen Ra’s do it. It had been a great way to vent as he suspected and Nightwing’s pained noises spurred him on in ways he hadn’t imagined. He stopped when the prisoner’s back was covered in blood and Nightwing looked on the verge of passing out,  
“Clean his wounds and escort him back to his cell.” Damian instructed to one of the servants stood at the door. He began to leave but halted when he heard a small, cracked voice,  
“Please, _please_ don’t leave me alone again.” Damian smirked, he did enjoy hearing a victim beg but the prisoner would need to be taught a lesson. He stormed back over to Nightwing. One hand wrenched his head back whilst the other drew a long line down his back over the fresh welts,  
“Insolent cur.” Damian growled into his ear, “You do not speak to me without permission nor without the proper honorifics.” Nightwing sobbed as Damian released his hold,  
“Take him back to his cell. Another two weeks might teach him some manners.”  
“No, no, please, sir.” He panicked, struggling against the servant pulling him towards the door.  
“Make that a month.” Damian instructed as the servants disappeared, dragging the crying Nightwing away.


	2. Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian makes Grayson his pleasure slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments and kudos, guys.
> 
> Warnings for a rape scene (between Damian and Dick) and some violence.

Dick found this period of incarceration _almost_ went quicker, maybe due to being given a specified time frame. Of course, it would’ve flown by, had he any means of telling the time; he was naked, stripped of his clothes and equipment long ago and the cell was windowless and always dimly lit. All of which made estimating the passing of days difficult.

He spent the first few days, maybe a week, laying on his stomach to not further anger the wounds on his back. They weren’t too painful but the cell wasn’t particularly sanitary and he wanted to avoid infection. In this position, there wasn’t much he could do to pass the time. He counted the tiles on the cell walls, he ate the bland meals shoved through the hatchway of the door, he glanced up at the camera which had now been turned on.

The second or third week, Dick spent the time stretching, standing on his tiptoes and touching the ceiling, spreading his arms horizontally and touching opposite walls of the cell. He sighed. He paced. He rested. He ate. He watched the camera and wondered who was watching back.

In what Dick thought was the final week (but could’ve been the first, second or third, if his way of estimating days was anything to go by), he decides to work out. Only basic exercises to not aggravate the wounds, sit ups, push ups, the occasional headstand. It’s done partially out of boredom and partially out of the need to _feel_ something: exhaustion, cramp, adrenaline. He pushed himself further than he should’ve but it kept him distracted from the hopelessness he was beginning to feel.

After his sentence was over, two servants escorted Dick to Damian’s quarters. His hands were cuffed to bolts on the floor. There was just enough chain between the two for Dick to kneel, a position he was becoming far too accustomed to, thanks to the al Ghuls. 

Damian sat opposite him on an oversized chair, almost reminiscent of a throne. _God_ , he looked so much like Bruce. Every time Dick had seen Damian, he felt hope in his heart before his brain caught up and realised, it wasn’t Bruce here to rescue him.

There was silence, Damian studying him as he studied Damian. The boy was older than he should’ve been. Talia had informed Bruce of the son he would never get to know a little over 3 years ago. At that point, Damian was apparently 10. But this was no 13 year old in front of Dick, Damian was a man. Much taller, bigger and stronger than Dick. Most likely on par with Bruce. Talia could’ve been lying about the age but Dick supposed it wasn’t out of the League’s resources to age Damian up.

When the silence persisted, Dick took the chance to investigate his surrounding. He cursed himself for not doing it as soon as he entered the room and realised his skills were waning. How long had he been here? There were several large windows in the room. Damian and two servants occupied it. If Dick could locate a weapon, he _might_ have had a chance of escape.

“It’s useless.” Damian suddenly spoke and Dick’s eyes snapped back to him, “You will find no escape, nor a weapon than can beat me in here.” Damian’s tone was always so confident, it was just another thing that reminded him of Bruce. Damian stood from the throne and strided over to Dick, the confidence just as present in his movements as his voice.

“You have faired well over the past month.” Damian began, firmly gripping Dick’s jaw to ensure the two were making eye contact. “All our research of you, Nightwing…” Dick was so fed up of the code name, the al Ghuls seemed to love flaunting that they knew the identities of the Bat Family so what was Damian’s motivation behind using Nightwing? Was it just to throw him off? “...suggests that social confinement would be the optimum method of _breaking_ you.” The grip on Dick’s jaw suddenly tightened, “Yet the footage I’ve watched of you suggests that the extended period of social confinement has improved your mentality, despite the protests you made about returning.”

Dick hadn’t really considered _why_ he fared better this time. Maybe in his brief time of release, he realised how much he needed to get out. Maybe the fact that the confinement was only for a defined time frame kept him going. Or maybe Damian’s face - _Bruce’s_ face had reignited any hope he had left. When he thought about Bruce, he thought about everyone else, his family, his friends, his freedom.

“I have thought through what to do with you. Execution seems a waste, constant torture will mean pain loses it’s effectiveness…” Damian released the grip and stood up straight. Dick gawked up at Damian, who was completely towering over him from this position, “So, I will make you my pleasure slave.” Damian made the announcement sound more like a chore than something he actually wanted to do.

Dick opened his mouth to protest but was beaten to the mark by one of the servant’s at the door,  
“Sir, the rules, sir, no male can be with another male, pleasure slave or not, it’s _forbidden_.” The servant’s voice trembled; he sounded terrified to challenge Damian but even more afraid of the consequences if Damian went through with it. It sounded like the League of Assassins needed to get with the times, although, they were still using candles as their primary source of lighting so Dick wasn’t surprised they were still _very_ behind, with their views... and electricity.

Damian stormed over to the protesting servant, one hand taking a firm hold of the hilt of his sword. It was still sheathed but the message was clear,  
“You dare oppose me? I intend to _break_ the prisoner through this method.” Dick listened on and realised that Damian had his back turned to him and both servants were occupied with not being stabbed to death. This was a chance of escape. The cuffs were easy enough to work off; he’d had the same pair on since Day 1 and he was much thinner now,  
“We could be executed for this…” The same servant mumbled again as Dick fled for the window, “No, I won’t particp-” Before the servant could utter another syllable, Dick heard Damian’s sword unsheath and the servant go silent. He glimpsed back, just as he reached the window and saw Damian with the sword against the servant’s throat,  
“I’ll execute you right here for insubordination.”

Dick cursed himself again as he abandoned his escape and quickly darted over to the scene. He grabbed Damian’s arm and skillfully applied pressure to specific points, causing Damian to lose his hold. The sword clattered to the ground and the four seemed to take a moment to glance at each other before realising the situation.

There was a brief scuffle between Dick and Damian. Dick knew that under the right circumstances, he might’ve had the advantage. But he was weak from minimal food, lack of practise and no weapons. Damian quickly pinned Dick to the ground. “ _Fool_.” He muttered, pressing his weight into Dick’s back.

“You owe Nightwing your life, servant, I suggest you keep our secret and initiate the pleasure slave.” The two servants muttered an affirmative reply before scurrying over to where Damian had Dick pinned. The handcuffs were returned and fitted properly to his wrists now. Damian stood upright and brushed himself off as the servants hauled Dick up, “Do not inform anyone else of what we are doing. If they ask, tell them to question _me_ directly about it.” The servants bowed before dragging Dick off.

***  
Damian had never really given much thought to sexual desires. His main and only focus had been the progression of the League (and occasionally the destruction of Batman). Despite his lack of experience, it didn’t come as a surprise to find that seeing Nightwing cleaned up, on his knees and in the correct pleasure slave attire aroused him.

The pleasure slave initiation had been a success; Nightwing had put up very little resistance after Damian warned him the two servants would be punished in his stead.

Nightwing’s hands were bound tightly above his head, stretching out his body so that every inch was on display to Damian. He circled it slowly, inspecting it all to ensure the servants hadn’t missed any steps. 

The first step of the initiation involved covering the slave in a light acid, developed from the Lazarus pits. Damian had never used it on himself but had seen it used on others and it looked and sounded painful. It had regenerative properties and killed any hair follicle it touched, meaning Nightwing’s body was now completely scar free and hair free from the neck downwards. Damian had also instructed the servants to use it on Nightwing’s face to permanently remove all facial hair except the eyebrows.

After that the slave would be bathed. It would’ve been Nightwing’s first real cleansing since he arrived here many months ago. Of course, Damian doubted it was an experience to enjoy. The servants would scrub down the pleasure slave and thoroughly clean all intimate areas. It also appeared they’d given Nightwing a much needed hair cut.

The final step was the attire. All pleasure slaves were fitted with permanent wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs and a collar, all of which had bolts to attach bonds to. Female slaves were allowed a brasiere and briefs and male slaves were only allowed briefs. Damian smirked at the one’s chosen for Nightwing; they were black except for the waistband which was blue.

“What name do you want for the collar, sir?” One of the servants asked. Damian hadn’t given it much thought. It was interesting to call his slave ‘Nightwing’ for the sake of dehumanizing him but perhaps using the slave’s actual name could prove just as effective. He considered his options carefully, before confirming the name,  
“Grayson.” Damian stated, staring into Grayson’s eyes; he almost looked happy to hear a name other than Nightwing. The collar was fitted with a tag which now displayed the chosen name.

There was a last step in the initiation, one that only the owner of the new slave could do. _Branding._ The best part about the branding was that if the slave was subjected to the regenerative acid again, the brand would be removed and have to be re-applied over again. Eventually the slaves would get used to it but judging by Grayson’s cry of pain when the searing hot metal made contact with Grayson’s skin, he was not prepared for it. Damian had chosen two locations for a brand; one just above Grayson’s penis and one on his left buttock.

Grayson looked like he needed another bath now; his sweat glistened his body and caused his once clean, freshly-cut hair to cling to his forehead. The pain had also caused him to breath heavily. Damian felt a pang in his lower stomach.

“There’s just the final stage left, sir, claiming your slave.” The servant’s voice was quiet and unsure; the League had strict rules regarding relationships and even stricter rules regarding homosexual ones, pleasure slave or not. Grayson let out a small squeak as he interpreted what ‘claiming’ might involve as Damian attempted not to smile at the prospect; he couldn’t let the servants know he actually _wanted_ this.

“Is he prepared?” Damian questioned, trying to feign disinterest. Both servants nodded before one replied,  
“Yes, sir.” Damian nodded in response before dismissing the servants from his quarters.  
Damian locked the door behind them before turning to his prey.

Grayson was still strung up by his wrists, the position now causing quite a strain on all of his limbs. Damian strided over to him and looked him up and down again; even the sweat dripping off his skin and the distressed expression on his face didn’t marr Grayson’s beauty.

But maybe Damian could.

He released the chain holding Grayson in place from one wrist cuff and used it to drag Grayson. Damian admired the fight his slave put up; it took all of Damian’s brute strength to pull him to the bed. Without preamble, he lifted Grayson and threw him onto the mattress. Grayson scrambled up, creasing the once perfect satin sheets beneath him,  
“If you think I’m just gonna _let_ you do this, you’re wrong, _sir_.” Grayson rolled off the bed in one fluid motion and stood, fists in a defence position.

Damian smiled, welcoming the challenge before darting towards Grayson. There was a brief scuffle between the two. Grayson was excellent at dodging everything Damian threw at him through convoluted acrobatic moves that Damian couldn’t quite read. Grayson leapt to the ceiling, using the chandelier to swing towards the door, causing loose candle wax to drip onto the stone floor.

Grayson was a show off and it was his undoing. Had he ran to the door like any normal person would’ve, he might’ve had a chance at escape (assuming, of course, he could pick locks and evade several hundred League members). But his route of choice proved to be his downfall. The chain from his wrists still dragged behind him and whilst Grayson was in mid-air, Damian grabbed the chain.

Grayson crashed to the cold, stone floor and was down for several seconds before Damian hoisted him up by his throat. Grayson made a weak attempt to claw and kick at Damian as he carried him over to the bed. Damian took no chances this time and firmly secured Grayson’s wrists to the headboard as well as attaching a new chain from the collar to the headboard (for extra security).

“You’re a fool, Grayson.”  
“Yep, you said that already…” Grayson mumbled into the pillow below him, sounding dazed from his fall. He gave a tug on his chains before attempting to gain a better position than laying face down on Damian’s bed. Damian growled at the insolence that Grayson seemed insistent on using, and grabbed the other’s hips, lifting them upwards and forcing Grayson to balance on his shaky knees. “Please, Damian, you don’t have to do this.” Grayson quietly said, voice as shaky as his unbalanced knees.

Damian yanked down Grayson’s pants to his knees and stared for a moment at the infamous buttocks presented in front of him; it was all his. There was a buttplug stuffed inside Grayson which had been keeping him stretched and lubricated for Damian. Without ceremony, Damian grabbed the base of the plug and pulled it out. Grayson cried out, whether from pain, relief or all-round distress, Damian couldn’t guess.

“ _Please sir_.” Grayson tried again and Damian felt pleasure pool in his lower stomach at hearing his slave beg. It was going to be fun taking Grayson, making him his. His hands gripped Grayson’s hips firmly enough to leave marks as he climbed onto the bed himself. Damian removed his belt and lowered his trousers just enough to free his straining erection.

He felt Grayson attempt to pull away beneath him but wrenched him backwards so that his buttocks made contact with the tip of Damian’s penis, “No, no, no, no, no…” Grayson muttered under his breath, his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the headboard. Damian lined up with Grayson’s hole and gave a sharp thrust inside. He savoured the feeling of Grayson’s tight heat, the muscles clenching around him.

Below him Grayson whimpered, still trying anything to get away. After a few thrusts, he was openly sobbing which Damian found even more arousing; Grayson was already breaking and this was only the beginning. There was so much more uncomfortable, humiliating and painful things that Damian could inflict upon him.

Damian quickened his pace, chasing an orgasm that he’d wanted since he laid eyes on Grayson all those months ago. He watched Grayson’s cheeks ripple with each thrust, saw the fresh brand on the left cheek become distorted from the movement. He lightly ran a finger over it; the al Ghul insignia. Grayson was his. _His_.

One final thrust pushed Damian over the edge. He hadn’t anticipated the strength of the orgasm and fell forward onto Grayson as he writhed in pleasure. Grayson finally laid flat on the bed, taking Damian’s weight on top of him.

There was a few minutes of stillness before Damian moved, he re-inserted the plug into Grayson with the intention of trapping his own seed inside Grayson,  
“In the future, I would expect you to thank me for that.” Damian instructed, standing off the bed and readjusting himself,  
“Fuck you.” Grayson commented, without much care that the instruction was a poor choice of words. Damian, still feeling the afterglow of his orgasm, smirked at the comment but did not reprimand Grayson.  
He undid the chains and dragged Grayson again, this time to another room. It was much smaller than Damian’s bedroom but much bigger than Grayson’s cell. It had a bed and an ensuite but was windowless and Damian had reinforced the door with the same locks as the cells below.

“Sleep.” Damian instructed as he attached Grayson’s wrist chains to his own headboard. He had every confidence the room was secure and Grayson could not escape and knew the cuffs were unnecessary but Grayson would have to earn more freedom.

Damian left and bolted the door behind Grayson. He wondered how long it would take before Grayson was the perfect pleasure slave; living to serve Damian in whatever way he wished with no care to his own needs, only his masters. Maybe then he would send Grayson back to his father in Gotham. That would indeed prove amusing. Of course, keeping him would be amusing too.


End file.
